Post #201

17 07 2007

I had intended to post this for my 200th post but instead some pop sock frivolity got in the way.   Anyway, I thought that I would share with you some of my favourite posts from my archives:

My cute positivity at the start of my personal trainer training attempt

My total utter failure at training

My five things 

Some poetry from my Creative Writing course about my ex-best friend who I fell out with and have never spoken to since after 12 years of friendship

and of course some monkey pictures

Enjoy!!!

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New Year, New Me?

4 01 2007

I don’t normally spend any time thinking about New Year Resolutions but this year, I really feel like I need to make some.  There are areas of my life in which I seem to make the same mistakes and though I ought to have learnt by now, I haven’t, so maybe the act of writing it down will cement the things I don’t like about me and my life and help me to put these things right.

  1. I want to be more pro-active.  I waste far too much of my precious-little time by procrastinating, watching TV and generally avoiding the parts of my life that require effort.  Doing this makes me stressed.  Not only that, but I miss out on doing fun things that take effort (not everything I put off is a chore).  I rush assignments for my Open University course which means my unrealistic high expectations for myself are repeatedly let down due to sub-standard work.  It also means my husband has to drive to my tutor’s house in the middle of the night to deliver essays which is not very fair.
  2. I want to get creative.  This is linked to Resolution 1 in that if I used my time more effectively, I could spend time making crafty things, cooking scrummy food, taking photographs and writing.  I also want to read more good books and interesting magazines.  That is not to say I am about to stop enjoying such important publications as Heat (magazine), Grazia, OK, Hello etc or Go Fug Yourself, Defamer or The Superficial
  3. I want to continue my blog, working harder to make my posts more worthwhile (whatever that means).  I have really enjoyed starting this and though it has a paltry readership, it has been therapeutic, enjoyable and one day I will have something I can look back on with a smile.  I still struggle with the issue of how much of myself I can reveal.  I have two major things going on in my life right now that I haven’t mentioned because they are personal and scary and do not just affect me (in fact one really is not about me at all).  I need to make a decision about whether I should tell my family about this site (which might mean some retroactive editing) and then ask permission to write about the issues at hand… or just carry on as I have been and stick to the things that I can talk about without recrimination.
  4. I want to be a better communicator at home.  At work, or with friends and family, I am patient and try to always be considerate when I express myself.  For some reason, I do not always extend the same courtesy to the person I love the most. 
  5. I want to be a better, more supportive sister.




Lazy post

19 12 2006

I have been trying to post for days and things keep getting in the way; work, life, TV… you know the drill.  I would like to find just a little bit of time so that I can start to do some creative things like make soft trees, or yummy food, or take some lovely pictures… I also want to get my wedding scrapbook done which I have been meaning to do since we got married three and a half years ago.  I am a little worried that if I actually purchase some scrapbooking goodies I will become a scrapbook geek.  It looks so appealing.  Where is my nearest Hobbycraft??

Anyway, so make up for not posting for an age, please enjoy these analogies courtesy of my OU Creative Writing bud, Jen.

Every year, English teachers from across the USA submit their collections of actual analogies and metaphors found in high school essays. These excerpts are published each year to the amusement of teachers across the country. Here are last year’s winners.

1. Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.

2. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.

3. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.

4. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.

5. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

6. He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.

7. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife’s infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM machine.

8. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.

9. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.

10. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you’re on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. Instead of 7:30.

11. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.

12. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.

13. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.

14. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth.

15. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.

16. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East River.

17. Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.

18. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.

19. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.

20. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.

21. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.

22. The ballerina rose gracefully en Pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.

23. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.

24. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.





The importance of good English

11 12 2006

I know this is not that current but the essay that I recently submitted which discusses judgements people make about examples of good and bad English would have greatly benefitted from the example that has been posted around the internet and also printed in newspapers. The example I am talking about is Lindsay Lohan’s inane email rant to her lawyers about who knows what… If you are living in a cave and haven’t read it, I suggest you do so here so that you can see the hilarious red-pen treatment given by the Go Fug Yourself girls.  Her English sure is fugly.





A Rumbling Ghost?

16 11 2006

As seems to be the NaBloPoMo craze, I was inspired to write this post after reading a post on Sarah’s blog. I love scary stories, especially if they are supposedly true. This is a true story from a very reliable source. It is one of the reasons that I think ghosts might exist.

About 30 years ago, a young newly-wed couple drove down to Cornwall for their first holiday together since their honeymoon. They rented a picturesque cottage in the country which was in an isolated but breath-taking spot. On their first day, they had good weather, even if it was a little blustery. After getting unpacked they took a long walk along the beach, and took a look around the town which was 10 miles away from where they were staying. They bought some groceries and decided to spend their first night in as they were tired from the long drive and the busy day.

After a simple but tasty meal, they sat and read in front of the fire. The wind had picked up so the warm fire was welcome in the draughty cottage. They went up to bed, shattered and sated.

The husband was a heavy and noisy sleeper and so was not all that compatible with the wife who slept lightly and woke frequently. That night, she woke a couple of times in the night to hear unfamiliar noises which she put it down to the old property and the gale blowing outside. As was usual, the husband did not wake at all.

In the morning, they woke to find that every single picture (there were several prints on each wall) and every knick-knack had been moved about. Pictures had been swapped and vases and ornaments turned over to their side, or moved from table to mantlepiece or windowsill. The cottage doors were locked and the door to the bedroom was very squeaky so the wife would have certainly been woken if anyone had come in. Neither the wife or the husband has ever been known to sleepwalk. No explanation for this can be found.

Do you know any ghost stories?

ps this story is what inspired my first novel (as yet unwritten except for a few chapters in different stages of draft).





Still waiting for my results. Pah.

14 11 2006

Father

Slipping my arm under her,
Around our bump,
I smile into her soft hair,
Savouring this contact
Before she shifts away.

I want to be closer
To her, to them.
But she resists.
So I build the baby’s cot
And make another list.

I already know what needs
To be done.
I know the two best routes
To the hospital.
And what to pack and who to call.

It fills me with awe that
I will soon be Dad.
Like destiny being fulfilled.
I am impatient
To see our baby’s face.

But though I plan, prepare,
She avoids, evades.
So I put off once more
The fruitless enquiry “Are you okay?”
In favour of this moment of peace.

Mother?

I know what I am meant to feel;
I’ve read the books,
I’ve seen the programmes.
I know what I want to feel:
Joy and excitement and gratitude.

But whilst strangers smile
And loved ones dote,
The spring tide of panic
Lashes at my feet,
I am slipping.

I envy his easy anticipation,
His confidence not weakened
By reticence; his place secure in
The club of happy parents-to-be.
I never filled in my membership form.

Questions cloud my vision
So I cannot see how I can do this:
Be a mother.
Care for a baby.
Give up my life.

Frustrated and fearful,
I shut him out.
Joy is resentment,
Excitement is dread,
And I don’t thank anybody.





Sunshine and gingerbread

2 11 2006

This morning started off pretty ordinarily after a shitty night’s sleep.  I managed to get myself up on time, have a shower, caught the train.  But my mood was not that great until the following:

  • I woke up on the train all cozy and warm with the sun on my face
  • I walked past Starbucks and noticed they have brought back Gingerbread Lattes for winter.  YUM.
  • It’s Thursday, which means its almost Friday.

My mood was lifted by about 400%.  Not bad eh?

For the past 3.5 weeks, I have been complusively checking the Open University website for my course result, to no avail.  Having the online checking is great but it means that every single time I remember that I am waiting for my results, I have to check because even if I had only looked 30 minutes ago, it is feasible that my tutor had posted my result in the meantime.  So I have to look again.  And again.  Ang again.  So far, no result.

Finally, this picture was sent around at work the other day.  I do like to share things that make me smile – I hope it doesn’t get too dull for you.

sofa.jpg